Proloug

I remember being backstage in my fitted red dress and tightly tied hair. My guitar was in my hand as I watched a black-haired girl play the piano in harmony. It was my music teacher, Ms. Brawthwite's idea for me to perform in the talent show, not mine. At first, I practically laughed when she mentioned it to me sometime in class. I mean, it's high school, who would even wanna do a stupid talent show. It's not 2013. It wasn't until Dad found the poster in my trash bin and shoved a guitar in my hand that I decided to practice. I rather sing one song for one night than hear Dad yippy-yappy about the importance of making memories in high school.

Even though I'd rather be binging Netflix than standing backstage nervously waiting for my turn, I couldn't help but feel a little excited. I was gonna play Mom's all-time favorite country song, Gingers and Snipers. It was a classic. During the summer whenever we drove in the car she would play it on the radio. Not the car radio, but bring an actual radio in the car and blast it at full volume. She had this obsession with vintage. She had a collection of CDs, tapes, 35mm's, Sony MDR, and a whole bunch of other things I can't pronounce.

When it was my turn to perform Ms. Brawthwite nearly had to drag me to the stage. I don't think it was stage-fright that made me insecure, but the thought of messing up really bad that when Monday came, I'd be the school laughing stock and featured in the school's newspaper as the 'girl who messed up really bad at the talent show cause she missed a few lines and was off key'.

For a good minute, I just sat on my stool with my guitar in hand without playing a single note. I tried to rearrange my thoughts, tried to get myself together. It wasn't until after I started singing that I looked around the crowd and saw neither of my parents in any of the seats.

I did great for the most part, probably more than great. Ms. Brawthwite gave me a big hug, praising me for how beautiful I sang while playing the guitar. Kids from my class and even upperclassmen handed me flowers and took selfies with me.

In all honesty, I could've done better. I've been practicing for a month, and the performance I just did was nothing but half-assed. Not a single effort was put towards it. There was no point if my parents weren't there to watch.

I hid in the dressing room, locking the door. I started calling my Mom and when she didn't answer my Dad. I didn't take it too seriously at first. There was a rainstorm happening, so I knew how packed the highway would be.

It wasn't until the show was over and people started leaving that I got worried. I sat on a bench at the parking lot like a complete loser. My clothes were drenched from the rain and my hair a wet tangled mess. Kids smirked as they passed me, and parents pitied me with their eyes. Turns out, I got second place. Right behind the girl with black hair who was a piano prodigy, Ivy Lee. I saw her and a few other girls laugh at me as they all got into one car, probably heading somewhere to celebrate her stupid victory.

To them, I must've looked like I was forgotten. A lost kid with no way home. And during that time I did feel that way because I was forgotten. Well not exactly forgotten. Ms. Brawthwite pulled over in front of me in her black Toyota. I declined when she offered me a ride. I kept reassuring her that my parents would come. But after thinking about it for a good moment, and feeling the shudders that went through my body from the cold rain, I just hopped in and let her take me home.

When I got home I was surprised to see a police car already parked in front of my house. Ms. Brawthwite was a nosy lady. She went with me to question the two officers that were standing on my porch. It was one man and one lady. The lady had less of a uniform under her coat. A detective for sure at first glance. The man had vibrant blue eyes and was buff under his thick coat and uniform.

They told me to go to the hospital with them. No questions asked. I nearly collapsed when they said my parents had an accident on Interstate 238.

I panicked. I didn't wanna go by myself and asked Ms. Brawthwite to accompany me. Thankfully she did.

The drive to the station felt like taking a long roller coaster ride to death's door. The lady officer, whose name was Jenny apparently, kept asking if I heard from my parents in the past hour. In the past hour, I was sitting on a cold bench waiting for my parents to pick me up from school. So I gave her a simple no.

When we got to the hospital, I asked Ms. Brawthwite to stay in the car. I didn't want her to be there for whatever I found out. It was no place of hers, and she knew that well more than me.

The officers took me down the hallway and passed through double doors. The hospital was in chaos, the rainstorm did a number on many people that were on the road. Each room was packed with people. I couldn't imagine the CPR room. The officers took me to a doctor who made me walk even more down the hall until we stopped at a room filled with covered bodies.

Seeing your parent's body in a clear bag isn't a normal occurrence for a fifteen-year-old girl who just won second place at a talent show.

I was numb, I couldn't speak or think, and I felt like throwing up. I had cried my eyes out in the emergency room. I ended up locking myself in the hospital bathroom just to get myself in order. To let the tears pour until I have nothing left.

They only let me see my parents once, just so I can confirm that they were my actual parents and not some random couple that happened to look like my parents. They even showed me the license plate from the crashed car to be extra sure. I remember sitting there, having them hand me a bunch of paperwork to read over and sign.

I had no other family members that I knew about. The only ones I had were my Mom and Dad who were dead.

Dad's adopted parents passed away years ago, and his biological parents are nowhere to be found or heard of. Mom never talked about her family, she cut ties with them a long time ago, and never mentioned them since. Dad told me they lived somewhere in Wyoming, and he only met them once.

The police told me they'll call me if they can contact someone from my family who can take care of me. They said it's better than being in foster care which I'd never wanna be in.

For 2 weeks I stayed with Ms. Brawthwite. I didn't go to school, I mean how could I. I didn't want the pitying eyes of people like Ivy Lee and her friends who laugh at you one moment and then feel bad for you the next.

So here I am now. Standing in front of my parent's grave, at South East Cemetery. I lit a candle and placed a flower near the stone. I even put my trophy there in a case. I only won it because of Dad so I decided to show him.

The funeral was barely a funeral. It was just me, a couple of my parent's coworkers and friends, Ms. Brawthwite, and her daughter. Many people left, leaving me and Ms. Brawthwite, until she had to go as well.

So I sit on the damp grassy floor alone.

Dad was a reckless man. And Mom was just unconcerned. They knew driving late at night on the highway during a rainstorm would be dangerous. But to them, my performance at school was much more important than their own lives.

A part of me almost blamed Ms. Brawthwite who made me do the stupid talent show in the first place. But after thinking about it, I was the one who bugged them to come and watch me perform. I think there is a reason why so many detectives in crime shows like Criminal Minds, Law and Order, Gotham, try so hard to find the person who committed the crime. Because they want to put the blame on someone. But what do you do when there's no one to blame?

The sound of steps makes me jump. A woman walks up from behind me. I quickly shuffle myself off the floor, patting the dirt and grass from my butt and legs.

She's in all black, a black short dress with a black leather coat on top. Her hair is a beautiful blonde. The natural type with golden highlights. She wears thick red lipstick and dark shades. She looks young but the lines on her face indicate her old age. But either way, she's beautiful.

She takes off her shades and looks at me, revealing brown-green eyes.

"The funeral is over."

I don't know why it comes off cold. To be honest I wasn't really nice to any of the guests that came. They asked me the same old 'are you ok'. 'If you need anything, call me. 'You're such a strong girl. 'God is with you—and all this other bullshit.

She gives me a plain smile, not the nice or sorry one, but just the one you give someone when you don't give a shit. I don't know whether to be offended or surprised.

She has a candle and CD in hand. I took a step back, startled by the familiar design and print. I instantly recognized the CD, an old cover of Gingers and Snipers. She places it on the floor near the teddy bears and flowers. She lights her candle with a pocket lighter, before placing it around the stone with the other candles.

I notice how she puts it on my mother's side of the grave instead of my father's. It takes me aback but fills me with strange curiosity. "Did you know my Mom?" I ask.

She walks away from the grave. I expect her to ignore me and leave but she stops by my side, looking at me from head to toe. Examining me. She puts her shades back on before turning away to look at the gravestones. "I did at one point. When she was someone else."

She throws a folded paper at me and I instantly catch it. It's a white envelope, and immediately my blood boils.

"Thank you, but I don't need your money," I spat.

She smiles, showing a ray of beautiful white teeth. "It's not money," she says. "Open it when you have the time."

She starts walking down the sloppy hill, not giving me another glance. Her southern accent lingered in the air, as well as her heavy cheap perfume. I spot her get into an old convertible car on the parking road. All shiny and seductive red. She lights a cigarette on the way, the tantalizing hint of the lethargic floats in the air. And just like that, she drives off.

For a minute I just stood and watched the empty road, before tearing the envelope open. A piece of paper is all I see. It's terribly crumbled up. Like someone crumbled it in a ball and then tried to straighten it out. Either way, I force myself to read the contents. I skim past the stuff that states my parent's cause of death and will. My parents never made a will. They were young and thought they wouldn't die this early in their lives. As much as I hated thinking about it, they both took their lives for granted. I took their lives for granted. I stumble across the last paragraph that mentions my name.

By the Superior Court of California, we hereby will Katherine Margaret Jones guardianship to Bartha Rosie Ruth and Sally Shirley Ruth. This guardianship will last until the child is of the age of majority, or has willed the guardians to sign Emancipation of Minors.

Guardianship: Sally Shirly Ruth

Signature: Sally Shirly Ruth

Judge: Lisa M. Wong

By the Superior Court of California and the SFPD.

The paper flies out of my hand and into the breezing wind. I run after it, dragging my feet to jump and catch the paper. I reread the contents to make sure I'm not dreaming. I shivered from the cold and panicked. The thought of not going into foster care thrilled me. But the thought of living with strangers didn't